


The Devil Drinks Tea.

by Gevar



Series: What if the Devil is one of us? [3]
Category: Lucifer (Comic), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-03 07:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11527482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gevar/pseuds/Gevar
Summary: Lucifer joins the Tea Ceremony Club. Chloe thinks the club has ties to the Yakuza. Mazikeen has a bigger fish to fry. Oh, and Lucifer wants his wings back.





	1. Exchange Student Programme.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The music is unreasonably loud, but the songs are a step up from the heavy metal genre the club used to favour. The lights are firing up the dance floor in kaleidoscopic and visual replay of Mozart’s symphonies. They’re packed in the gym, like a crate of overflowing tuna. Chloe has become some sort of an expert in ducking when shoes or heels fly through the air.

The music is unreasonably loud, but the songs are a step up from the heavy metal genre the club used to favour. The lights are firing up the dance floor in kaleidoscopic and visual replay of Mozart’s symphonies. They’re packed in the gym, like a crate of overflowing tuna. Chloe has become some sort of an expert in ducking when shoes or heels fly through the air.

There are new additions. A small portion of the bleachers has been converted into a bar. A bar with non-alcoholic beverages, as advertised on the flyer pinned on the school’s information board. Where they got the money for that, Spera—Shelly told them to call her that—said they had left over fund from last month. She would know since she took over LUX’s accounting since Delilah’s passing.

The whole place still feels like it’s one make-out away from being a full-blown orgy. Not that she minds—seeing how Mark Milligan and Gina Godfrey are part of the would-be-orgy. Oh, _snap_ out of it. She’s not here for the orgy or anything sex-related.

However, Chloe Decker has to admit the LUX Club is a stress-free environment. She hasn’t seen a fight yet to break out inside or outside the gym. At most, it’s a foot apparel war. The injuries are hardly life-threatening, but those stilettoes are still intimidating. Anyhow, no stiletto-induced death _yet_. So, Lucifer must be doing _something_ right.

Enough about the LUX. Chloe’s here to enjoy herself. Sashays to ‘Liverpool Hip-Hop Rap’, a song about letting the inner demons come out to play—and the joys of expensive cigars.

“Hey! Over here,” Chloe shouts, her hands motioning wildly at Dan. At one point, she has to jump _while_ waving to be seen. Half of the gym’s patrons are unnaturally tall. Like they hit growth spurt way ahead. It takes him about five minutes of squinting and widening his eyes before he catches her at the bleacher—the bar. Chloe sees him squeezing himself as he treads through the sweaty crowd.

When he arrives, the glower on his brows softens and he smiles a relieved smile.

“Where’s Stephen?” Ella asks, handing Dan a glow stick. There’s some luminescent paint smearing her left cheek and forehead.

Dan shakes his head sideways. “He’s busy. Said he got to help his brother managing a bookstore.”

“Awh,” Ella says, sighing heavily. “Did you tell him we’re here to celebrate?”

The Journalism Club rarely celebrates. But today deserve a commemoration in the form of light _safe_ partying, and lots of dancing. The club recently revamped the school paper’s web in an effort to make the digital paper more interactive and accessible to their fellow students. The previous website has the highest views of 350. The physical copies were more popular than the website. This week alone, the website managed a glorious number of 404 views. It’s a win.  

Dan nods. “Already did. There’s always next time,” Dan consoles, awkwardly patting over Ella’s shoulder.

“Maybe I should be the one doing the asking,” Ella purses her lips.  

They move away from the dance floor to the bar. Settling for the bar stools at the far corner of the bar. The bar is an unsurprising hit. Students rapidly latching at the bar, before heading back to the dance floor and return to it again.

They place their orders based on the chalk-written menu. Mazikeen works behind the counter, preparing the drinks. Next to her, a boy with hair red as the colour of a ginger cat’s coat and piercing cat-like blue eyes, is doing neat tricks with the coffee machine. He flashes an asymmetrical smile to Ella, as he sets her America espresso drink in front of Ella.

“For the prettiest girl in the room,” he purrs.

“Pruflas, right?” Ella tries batting her eyelashes, but the effort to wink seductively makes Ella scrunching her face in disgust.

“Armand Cortez,” Pruflas corrects, extending a hand, “but everyone calls me ‘Pruflas’.”

Beside Ella, Dan silently snickers—and fails miserably. Spurting his latte all over himself. Just as Mazikeen sets her grey-eyed attention on him, Dan Espinoza tries to act nonchalant while latte dripping down his chin.

With all their beverages in their hand, they raise their glasses up and toast.

“To more hits!” Ella starts, grinning.

“Let’s hope we can break the 500 barrier,” Chloe quips, letting a smile tugging the corners of her lips.

“Amen to both,” Dan agrees, smirking and dabs the napkin on his stained tee.

Chloe casts a sweeping glance around the gym. Spots Ludwig Haas playing with Laura Chang’s hair—he’s braiding them, at the top end of the bleachers. Sees Ella’s face burnt tomato red at Pruflas’ flirty wink. Observes Dan being transfixed by the Decathlon Couple dancing in the centre of the dance floor.

Huh. Lucifer’s absent. That’s unusual. From her previous stakeouts, Chloe knows his pattern hardly deviates much. That he’s usually around, lurking in the dark, with that irritating haughty grin carved on his angelically handsome features. He’s never absent from the LUX.

No, Chloe didn’t memorise Lucifer’s schedule. Chloe’s just observant. Before she eliminated Lucifer and LUX as Delilah’s killer, she scrutinised Lucifer and LUX deeply.

“Is it me or Lucifer’s not here? I haven’t seen him since we came.”

Dan joins in the visual search for Lucifer. He shrugs. “I think you’re right.”

“He’s with the Tea Ceremony Club. Has been with them since two weeks ago,” Ella offers, sipping her American espresso.

“Lucifer Morningstar joins a club specialised in Japanese culture,” Chloe flatly states, quirking one brow at Ella. Disbelief creases her forehead and she bites her lower lip.

Ella knits her brow together, “That surprises you?”

Dan shakes his head side to side. “Chloe has a point. He doesn’t strike me as the guy who would join that kind of club. More like LUX is his world and his only club,” he concurs.

“I heard he’s shortlisted for an exchange programme to Japan. So he’s getting a head start to learn the language and customs.”

“Oh,” is all Chloe says. And she doesn’t put any much thought into that.  

* * *

Chloe leaves early. Not because Lucifer isn’t around. She still has chores to complete. Homework to finish. Books to read. And she promised her dad she’d be home early anyway. Dad is still eager on making sure she carries out her punishment to the T from that Delilah case. She’s not exactly grounded. Only she has a time limit to the hours she could spent outside home. 

Chloe finishes her iced coffee swift. Slaps a five dollar bill on the counter. Gestures a two fingered salute at Ella and Dan. Then makes her way towards the front door. She types a short text to notify her dad. The sound of tires screeching on asphalt captures her attention. Chloe looks up from her phone.

A black vehicle pulls over, stopping in front of the gym. Mercedes Benz, by the logo attached to the vehicle’s front. Tinted windows. Bulletproof glass. Everything about the Benz is slick and fortified—the type of car dangerous people used because they’re likely to get fired at; like presidents, drug lords or master criminals.

[She knew the model because Ella once talked her ears off. Chloe made the mistake of asking Ella why she was staring at the pictures of the same car. Received an hour lecture of the different shades of black. Ella and her five brothers are anything-on-wheels enthusiasts—fast, expensive cars to be exact.]

Two slim men, of Japanese descent, exit the vehicle. Both wore rack-shelf dark suit, loose and long on their bodies. Their jet-black hair tied loosely into a simple ponytail. Their faces are impassive. They stood over the car’s door. They move apart to allow another suit-wearing man out from the vehicle.

He’s different than the dark-haired Japanese men, towers over them at a good height of six-feet over. His strawberry-blonde hair gleaming underneath the moonlight. His build is rather slender but muscular. His suit fits his body like a glove, expensive-looking compared the two men. Coolly detached blue eyes peering at his shoes.

Chloe raises her hand to wave—but stops. Lucifer’s attention falls on the car’s door. A tinted window rolls down, revealing a teenager and an older woman in her thirties, presumably the boy’s mother. The boy wore a Vertigo High cap and the Tea Ceremony Club’s emblem stitched above the ‘Vertigo High’. Only his side profile could be seen. His mother’s face is partially obscured by the shadows.

On instinct, she crouches behind the overgrown hedges. Oh, all this is déjà vu. Not too long ago Chloe made a vow she wouldn’t stoop to this level again. Y’know, the part where she spied on Lucifer. Well, things have changed.

Chloe pokes her eyes over the hedges. Takes a peak at Lucifer and those suspicious-looking people. She’s too far from them to catch any snippets of their conversation.

[All this is freaking shady. Especially Lucifer’s escorts, the boy and his mother. Like what family needs a bulletproof car to move around in the dead and sleepy town like this? Vertigo has been crime free since 1993. Well, it was, until Delilah McCord. And Ramon Valdez. Okay, fine. Vertigo does has its fair share of crimes. Mostly crimes of passion and a few sting of robberies. Organised crime is a different level. Her ‘journalism sense’ is tingling.]

Chloe whips out her phone. Snaps pictures until the car drives away. She ducks again, as Lucifer walks passed the hedges. He whistles a tune, nonchalant. As if he had a chat with a suburban mum and her kid. Not potentially last living moment with deadly criminals—maybe not the boy—but his mother and their ‘bodyguards’ are best candidates.

Chloe Decker makes a mental note to search more on this Tea Ceremony Club and its members. If Lucifer isn’t digging further on them—she will. Just to make sure he’s not in danger.


	2. History's Month, Missed Appointments and Laundry Duty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella makes a noncommittal noise in her throat. Then flips a page on her notebook. “You’re sticking your nose into Lucifer’s affairs?” Ella glances at Chloe, a playful grin playing on her lips.

She’s staring at the ceiling. Hands behind her head. Slumped halfway on her seat, legs crossed over the other. Her laptop’s screen has dimmed before it goes black from the inactivity. Her coffee’s untouched; gone cold.

As always, Chloe voices her suspicions to the one person who never turns her away.

“Go on,” Ella monotonously encourages. Her fingers clacking against the keyboard, loud. She regards her notebook brief, before return to typing.

“They couldn’t look any shadier than Morningstar. If you saw them that night, you’ll see why—”

Ella makes a noncommittal noise in her throat. Then flips a page on her notebook. “You’re sticking your nose into Lucifer’s affairs?” Ella glances at Chloe, a playful grin playing on her lips.

“I’m not being nosy,” Chloe protests, “I’m legitimately concerned.” She holds out a finger, “Those guys wore black suits, armoured cars. She could give the Godfather a run for his money. Like the mafia, from head to toe.”

“Not the mafia,” Ella argues and corrects, “The accurate term is Yakuza.”

Chloe swivels her chair at Ella’s direction, immediate and frowning. “Oh, they’re like the Japanese equivalent to Italian mafia, right? I saw a doc on the taboos associated with the yakuza several nights ago, something about their tattoos—”

“Yakuza,” Ella repeats, absentmindedly. “Yeah, they got colourful tats. The more elaborate your tattoos are, it means you’re high up in ranking. Some could be missing their pinkies—signs of loyalty and all that.” Ella waves a dismissive gesture, eyes still set on her laptop.

Chloe wonders if Yakuza exists in the States. Maybe in bigger cities. Not small sleepy towns, like Vertigo. She tosses a quick look at Ella, one brow nearly touching her hairline. “How do you know so much of this stuff?”

“I’m writing a series of articles on the different types of organised crimes around the world for History Month,” Ella replies, sounding weary. Ella shows Chloe the notepad she’s consulting. She sighs. Sets the notepad down, massaging her temples and adds, “But you have the look in your eyes.”

Chloe scoffs. “What _look_? I don’t have a ‘look’.”

“Yes, you do. It’s the look that says you probably hit some kind of dirt,” Ella reaffirms, smirking victoriously when Chloe can’t deny the Latina’s words. “But if you’re going to accuse Susano’s mother being part of a yakuza, you better make sure you have the evidences to back you up.”

Chloe opens her mouth to respond, “No—”

“They’re known to have some unusual method of execution,” Ella cuts Chloe off, levelling her with a serious look.

Chloe’s grin broadens, tinted with sunshine and confidence. “I _got_ this.”

“How do you plan to achieve that?”

“With good old-fashioned stake-out.”

“Okay,” Ella says, but the scepticism on her face betrays the lack of confidence in Chloe.

* * *

She goes through the symptoms list of schizophrenia. Ticking each one, as Lucifer narrated in the audio recordings of their session.

He answered all of her questions. Just like he promised. But his answers are ambiguous at best, vague at worst. She can’t tell if he’s lying about telling the truth—or does he believed his lies as truths?

Linda Martin rereads her notes for the tenth time. Lucifer Morningstar—file holder named Sam Milton—is utterly convinced he’s the devil. _The_ Fallen Angel. Ruler of hell. And all that came with the word ‘hell’ attached to it.

The fact that his stories didn’t change over two sessions is impressive. And worrying.

Seeing how he went on introducing himself as ‘Lucifer Morningstar’ to everyone he knows—meant Mazikeen and the rest have been indulging him with his delusions. His parents are working abroad. No legal guardians around. No _actual_ adult supervision. Mazikeen’s mature for her age—but she’s not an adult.

Linda requested another consulting session with Sam—err, Lucifer. She can’t jump the gun, in her haste to prove Lucifer might be suffering some form of mental illness. But Lucifer is a no-show. Has been for two weeks now.

Still, there is another way Linda could get an insight on Lucifer. It might not be ethical. But Linda isn’t going to let one kid slipped away from her grasp and ended up committing a crime in the long run.

Nope, Linda’s integrity wouldn’t allow it.

Linda sneaks a glimpse at the clock. It’s two, on a Thursday afternoon. She closes the Milt--Morningstar file. Jerks her drawer open and returns the file there. Time to act ‘natural’, Linda. She spreads other kids’ files all over her table. Starts clicking her pen as she waits for her next appointment.

One minute passes by. Then two. Another three fly into half an hour. Mazikeen who has never missed an appointment—except that one time Lucifer took over her session.

Linda resists the urge to leave her office right now and search for Mazikeen.

The girl’s not in any trouble. No delusions on Lucifer’s proportions. Obviously, it wouldn’t do Linda good if she makes one wrong move and destroys the rapport she’d built with Mazikeen.

So Linda sits quietly in her chair. Reaches out for the keyboard and starts typing an email to Mr and Mrs Milton. Just a simple friendly message of concern on the welfare and mental health of their son.

Linda debates briefly if Miss Lilith Smith should receive an email too. Probably yes. For reassurance.

* * *

The gym hall’s empty. Mazikeen sits on the bleachers, legs crossed. Her eyes set on the gym door. She straightens the razor blade, slashes a line across her upturned palm. Lets her blood drips onto the folded clothes.

The blood seeps into the dark clothes, then vanishes into the thin air. A knock on the gym door has Mazikeen walking towards it.

She parts the door open, enough for her visitor to slip inside. Shuts the door close. Heels clicking against the waxed gym floor, towards the bleachers.

“Did he notice you?” Mazikeen questions, zipping up the duffel bag close. Hands the bag to Spera.

“Didn’t think so,” Spera replies, shaking her dark hair sideways. “He’s always too eager to get out of school. Like he doesn’t want to linger around humans too much.”

Mazikeen draws to her full height, making her way around the bar. Takes out two glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Mazikeen pours the whiskey into the glasses and slides the glass to Spera. “What have you found so far?”

Spera sips the whiskey, a smile of gratitude widening on her lips. “He lives with his brother in an apartment above a bookstore. His brother manages the bookstore below.”

Spera’s words ensnare Mazikeen’s interest. “A brother? Do you have a name?”

“Not yet. He’s tall,” Spera raises her hand above her head, “like Morningstar. Bleached hair and a beauty mark on the centre of his forehead.”

“Any specifics to his routine?”

“I haven’t had the chance to trail him for the entire week. So, nothing weird yet.”

“Continue with your surveillance,” says Mazikeen, gulping whiskey from her glass. “The instruction for laundry is in the bag’s pocket. Make sure the suits aren’t wrinkled.”

“Okay. No wrinkles.” Spera empties her glass, starts to move away from the bar. She halts, half-turns to look at Mazikeen. Gestures a free hand at the duffel bag. “Anything else I should know before the suits will inevitably get ruined?”

“Tell Gaudium to strictly adhere to dress code. I’ll send the shoes later.”


End file.
